New Blog

As part of the re-launch of Calliope, I have a new editorial blog. Check it out here. I’ll be maintaining both sites, for now at least, as they serve different purposes. Though in reality, I haven’t exactly decided on the purpose of nuggetoftruth now that I have a steady writing job, but I’d be sad to see it go.

New Calliope!

Our little online literary magazine, Calliope, has reached its six month birthday today, and to celebrate, we have launched the magazine on its very own, sparkly new website! 

http://calliopewriters.com/

The magazine now features an interactive discussion forum (Wiki-lliope), editors’ daily blogs, interviews, short stories, poetry, the Novel Race 2008, Halloween writing contest, and more. 

If you are a writer, look around and send us your work for consideration. If you are a reader, look at what’s there and send your feedback.

Our national hero is a football player, lord have mercy!

Much like Michelle Obama, I am proud of my country for the first time (almost) in my adult life, as we enter a time of hope. No, not Gordon Brown. Not even really Boris Johnson. I’m talking about the Olympics 2012! After enduring the Beijing Olympics for the past few weeks, full of North Korean-style routines, outright lies, and press controls, the official London takeover show was an inspirational tribute to western freedoms – and the western sense of fun!

What could be better than one of Britain’s best loved rock stars, Jimmy Page, accompanying Britain’s hottest new singing star, Leona Lewis, to the classic tune Whole Lotta Love? And then David Beckham, the world’s favourite football star, kicking out a football into the crowd as a symbol of global athleticism coming to London? 

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6jher_leona-lewis-jimmy-page-live_music

My pride and joy: Mustang Delta

I finally bought a car! It’s a Mustang. The girl I bought it from is a friend with whom I’ve bonded over our mutual love (read: obsession) with Delta Goodrem. So I thought it would be fitting to name the beauty Delta.

On Pseudonyms

To pseudonym, or not to pseudonym?

That is the question – if you are a writer.

Unless you are the most self-confident writer in the world – and if you are then you might consider why exactly you’re bothering to write since neurosis and self-criticism really do come as part of the package – then you will probably have, every now and then, thought about writing under a different name.

It’s a privacy thing. Anonymity gives you the chance to write what you want without fear of criticism, hurting anyone, or revealing too much into your private world. When the infamous London blogger Girl With a One Track Mind was unmasked, it was humiliating all round. She’d anonymously written about her personal life, revealing private, sexual thoughts that she never would without the supposed safety net of a pen name. After her book was published as a compilation of her best blog posts, under the pen name Abby Lee, there was much speculation about the author’s identity and she was exposed after a ruthless campaign to track her down. Needless to say the whole incident was humiliating for her, and she camped out for weeks in her home contemplating her self-made, self-penned prison. Just a regular girl with an amped-up sex drive, she has been both hailed as a harbinger of sexual feminism, and derided as a sex addict who is morally no better than a prostitute.

Someone who actually is a prostitute is the blogger Belle du Jour, author of Diary of a Call Girl, who has survived a high-profile book publication and an even higher-profile TV show (starring Billie Piper taking a wide U-turn from her squeaky clean pop star and Doctor Who image) with her anonymity intact. She has worn her sexual conquests on her sleeve, and now has the double benefit of being a recognizable author – she could now write a couple more guaranteed bestsellers – without being actually recognizable. Many writers, even writing about something less personal, would say that is the best of both worlds.

Blogging is easy, and most bloggers are unlikely to become famous enough to worry about reputation. A bit of advice though: If you are planning to bitch about the boss, then it’s probably wise to keep it among your friends and not publish these thoughts for the world to see, anonymous or not. And if you desperately need to share your secret S&M fantasies, then a pseudonym is probably a good idea, unless you are a Playboy bunny or professional dominatrix. Which I’ll assume you’re probably not.

But what about fiction? How far can you take a story under your own name before it becomes too personal for comfort?

JK Rowling is by no means a pseudonym, but don’t think that Joanne Rowling didn’t make her gender deliberately vague. It was a canny move designed to invite the readership of young boys who might be putting off by reading a ‘girly’ book written by a woman.

Someone not afraid to plant a big neon sign (or should that be pen a big inky blob) over her gender was Jane Austen, who published her first novels under the simple title ‘A Lady’. She wrote for the love of the storytelling, rather than for any glory, but inevitably word spread of the ‘Lady’s’ identity, and the notoriously shy Ms Austen was outed.

Perhaps the most famous example of a woman using a pseudonym is Mary Ann Evans. Never heard of her? Well, she wanted to be taken seriously in her time as a writer, and so she called herself George Eliot, author of Middlemarch and Daniel Deronda. She, probably rightly, assumed that as the author of serious works and not just ‘woman’s novels’ (aka. Romance), she would not get very far under her own name. 128 years after Eliot died, a lot has changed, and being taken seriously shouldn’t be a concern for female writers, thank goodness.

Of course, it goes the other way too sometimes. There has been, and always will be, a stigma attached to men writing about certain topics. Science fiction? Great. Dark stories about the inner workings of a messed up male psyche? Channel Holden Caulfield some more and you’re golden. Got a great crime story to tell with a private eye, a femme fatale and a healthy dose of bloody murder? Bring. It. On.

Want to write a touching romance? Erm. (Pause.) Forget about it.

This is why Victoria Gordon, Gill Sanderson, and Madeleine Ker are actually all men writing with female pen names (Gordon Aalborg, Roger Sanderson and Marius Gabriel, respectively). So for any guys reading this who feel that their calling is really in the romance market, you have two options: either accept the status quo and do a literary Tootsie. You never know, it might give you a creative freedom you haven’t yet imagined. Or you can be bold, and tell the world that you write about love and romance and tender moments between consenting adults, and damnitall, you don’t care who knows it.

Writing is a very personal business. It pains the writer when an editor changes words around or – worse! – deletes them altogether. And it can pain a writer to reveal too much about their inner world and private person in an open forum. It can be a creative drain to be worried about what your parents, friends, teachers, children, colleagues, etc, might think about you after reading something you have put your heart and soul into. For some, a pseudonym is certainly the wiser choice.

For others though, the pain of exposure might be worth the joy of public authorship. It’s always a risk to bare ones soul on the page without hiding behind a fake name – but sometime’s it’s a risk worth taking. 

From this August’s Calliope.

It’s a very naughty town

A mayor’s plan to end her town’s ban on the 1979 Monty Python film Life of Brian are being opposed by the local vicar, who says it pokes fun at Jesus.

Sue Jones-Davies, who played Brian’s girlfriend in the movie, was amazed when she became mayor of Aberystwyth that it was still barred at the cinema.

But Reverend Canon Stuart Bell said Christians he spoke to in Ceredigion were still against it being shown.

(Read more.)

It’s amazing to me that a university town filled with clubs, booze shops and rowdy students (man, I miss uni) can ban a Monty Python film, yet show all kinds of films at the Arts Centre on campus. How is Life of Brian any worse than your average Quentin Tarantino bloodbath? Or some smutty arty film?

Whatever happened to freedom of speech? If you don’t like the message, then don’t see the film.

Why no one likes a car salesman

I’ve been living in Los Angeles since June 14 and I have since passed my driving test, and am now looking forward to purchasing a car. So I’ve been putting out feelers, looking up cars online, while I shop around for an auto loan.

I was interested in one car from a dealer, and sent them an email. I discovered it cost more than I was looking to pay when they replied two days ago. Just a mere two days ago. Here is an email I received this afternoon from them:

Title: are you mad at us? 

“Hi

I have been trying to get in touch with you. You emailed me in regards to a cool 2003 Camry XLE. I have emailed you a few times. You have never responded. Did I upset at all. If so please let me know what I did wrong. My boss seems to think i am doing a poor job with you. what should I tell him. I really want to help you.
Thanks, ”

(I’ll be nice and not put the dealership or the individual’s name on here.)

Now it’s not so much the atrocious grasp of English and grammar here that offends, though it does since I’m a strong believer that when corresponding in business one should always look professional by using proper grammar and spelling. But here it’s the sheer harassing aspect in his tone, as though I, the customer, owe him something. Excuse me, but I always thought that the customer was right and should be respected, not hounded or accused of holding a grudge for some unknown reason. 

Well, that has ensured I’ll take my business elsewhere. And I replied this time to tell him so – politely, in plain English.

All dogs deserve to go to Heaven

My parents made the difficult decision to put our family dog, Cerberus, to sleep. He has been badly behaved for a long time, but recently it has escalated to the point of being quite scary. He was a beautiful jack russell and it feels like we’ve failed him by not being able to control him, and he’s had to pay for it with his life. I’m glad I was on the other side of the world, and my parents spared me the anxiety by only telling me after the deed was done, as I’d asked them to do if it ever came to this. I just hope that all dogs do indeed go to heaven and that he is floating on a white cloud surrounded by meaty treats and chew toys.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about mortality lately, and how quickly my own life seems to be going, despite my youthful age. My grandmother is 97 years old and is one tough broad. Her heart is ridiculously strong from years of fastidious house work and vigorous walking and general hardiness of character. She would wake up every day at 5.30am just to wash the windows, apparently*; I complain about my 6.30am alarm for work. Once, when she was in her 70s, she woke up in the middle of the night hearing a strange sound downstairs, and went down to confront a burglar – a young man in a ski mask – armed with only an umbrella. She, an elderly widow, ran around after this young man with her brolly and chased him right out of the house. Sadly, her heart is as strong as ever but her mind is not and she is very senile now, introducing me to her nurses as her sister. That’s quite an age gap.

 

Well, she is losing weight fast and doctors think the cancer that she beat a few decades ago might have returned. Treatment would be crazy at this point – if it’s her time to go, at 97, then it’s her time and she should be made as comfortable as possible. But with the dog’s young life ended, and hers going on, and mine speeding up it seems, I can’t help but think about life, and mortality, and what we do with the time we have.

 

I fear I waste much of my life with silly magazines, ridiculous television shows, and too much time spent in my own head, daydreaming. Life is for living – for trying new experiences and being adventurous. I moved to another country and started everything fresh, but I’m still the same person and I still don’t take the risks I need to to grow as a person.

 

So here is a challenge to myself, and to all of you: try to do things that are outside of your comfort zone. Even small things. For example, the place I work at had a book sale last week, so I bought 7 books for 7 dollars, and I made sure a couple of them were about topics I would never usually read about – challenging topics that I might consider above my usual level for personal reading. But I want to be made to think, to understand more about this world. 

 

That’s just a simple example, and there are more things I have in mind personally. What do any of you think? What might you do that frightens you a little to think about but you feel would help you grow as a person?

 

RIP Cerberus Fisher

This is my editorial blog from Calliope: Voice of the Writers.

 

* My father has read this post and informed me that his mother is actually a mere whippersnapper at the age of 95, not 97, and that she did not wake up *every* day at 5.30am to wash the windows – that was merely her ideal way to kick off a perfect day of cleaning… Sadly I have not inherited her domestic fortitude.

A jib to the jab

Awesome. Visit the JibJab website: http://sendables.jibjab.com/

Five Years in Limbo

So my family got a jack russell puppy almost five years ago, and we have made a complete mess of training him. When we got him we had a family friend living with us, called Gra, who grew up around dogs and really knows how to handle them (neither of my parents had a dog before), and naturally our gorgeous little puppy Cerberus looked up to Gra as his master. And five years later he still does. The rest of us he will snarl at, bark at, occasionally go to bite, and be a bit generally nasty too (not all the time – often he is perfectly lovely. He’s our little Jekyll and Hyde dog). 

Well, this month has been an emotional rollercoaster for the Fisher family, after Cerberus really disgraced himself and was scheduled in for that final visit to the vet. He was given a last minute reprieve when my friend (and fellow Calliope editor) Crystal did an internet search and found a shelter that will try to rehouse even badly trained animals. In the hour before his date with death, the shelter was called and they gave us hope.

Now it seems that might not be an option, but Gra has stepped in and even he cannot bear the thought of the little mutt dying. So we are hoping that he might be able to take the dog. Here’s hoping. I’m just glad I am in California, and if Cerbie does need to be put down I’ve asked my family not to tell me about it until after it has happened. 

So I anxiously await news of the fate of this dog. In the mean time, this story warms my heart:

http://www.nypost.com/seven/07152008/news/regionalnews/returns_5_yrs___850_miles_later_119921.htm